


Way Down We Go

by synopsis



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Protectiveness, Slow Build, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6847225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synopsis/pseuds/synopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson and his team have solid intel that AIM plans to launch a biochemical attack on a major city in two weeks. Fortunately for them, the Avengers were able to retrieve a sample of the agent, F.F. 667, though they aren’t exactly open with how. Secrecy being a top priority, Jemma is ordered to a hidden laboratory located in the Pacific Northwest to create an antidote. Sergeant Barnes, still not fully comfortable with the Avengers, volunteers to be Captian Roger’s eyes and ears in regards to the weapon and conveniently able to provide security detail for the biochemist. But the scientist and assassin don’t quite see eye to eye, and when things go south--well . . . that’s when things get interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be my first attempt at a nondrabble Jemma/Bucky. I plan to update at least once a week, if not more frequently. I have the entire thing outlined, so now I've just got to churn it out. I'll add more tags as they become relevant. Rating for future chapters. I expect it to be less than ten chapters, at this point. Who knows though, my stories tend to take on a life of their own.
> 
> Also, this is unbeta'ed, so all mistakes are mine. If you notice any--feel free to let me know and I'll fix them accordingly.

“We’re approaching the dropzone.” May called over her shoulder, piloting the quinjet expertly. Jemma saved her work and shoved the laptop back into the backpack between her legs. She shot a nervous look to the man sitting across from her, who was too occupied with double checking his gear to notice her. Finished, he stood, hunching over slightly in the small plane, pulling on the harness with the parachute. He shot her a look, eyes partially obscured through his long hair. 

“Ready, Dr. Simmons?” 

Jemma wasn’t sure but she nodded anyways, standing before him, her back to his front. He slipped the second part of the harness around her, hands deft and quick, buckling and tightening the straps that secured her to his chest. When he paused, she hefted the backpack up and slid her arms through it to bring it to her chest. He grunted, his hot breath ruffling against the back of her neck but didn’t say anything as he hooked a small carabiner from his harness to the pack. 

“Remember, once you drop it’s radio silence. So if you have any reservations, Jemma, speak now.” May flipped a switch and the back of the borrowed quinjet lowered. 

“Let’s go, Sergeant Barnes.” 

Barnes placed his hands on the back of her thighs, lifting her up with clinical precision. 

“Rendezvous in two weeks, Agent May.” The newest Avenger confirmed. 

Barnes kicked the cargo box in front of them out of the plane into the twilight, the shoot automatically deploying, before leaping out with Jemma. 

Jemma squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the memories of the last time she jumped out of a plane. She wrapped her arms around the pack strapped to her chest, and focused on counting down until she felt Barnes pull the string for their shoot and their descent slowed. 

“Get ready.” 

Jemma opened her eyes, seeing the ground rushing up at them, she bent her knees ready for the impact. 

Barnes’ experience landed them smoothly, Jemma barely stumbling along the ground as he stopped them with sure footing. The cargo box had landed not thirty feet away from them. 

Barnes didn’t speak, making quick work unharnessing Jemma and himself before stuffing the shute back into the pack. 

The sky growing dark this high on Mt. Hood, forced the pair into action. Their destination was a hunting lodge that was a cover for the secret SHIELD laboratory. 

“How’s the cargo?” Barnes slung the pack back over his real shoulder, crossing to the cargo box and preparing it for the two mile hike into the woods. He popped out the metal handle on the box, lifting it with his enhanced arm he turned back to the biochemist. 

Jemma looked in her bag, pulling out a clear container that held a vial filled with a yellow liquid. “All good.” She emphasised her statement by waving the container. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t shake that around.” Barnes snapped and Jemma lowered the container back into the bag before putting it on her back.

“Sergeant Barnes, need I remind you that I’m a biochemist? It’s perfectly safe to handle while containment.” She hooked her thumbs in the straps of her bag. “Shall we?”

Barnes didn’t reply. Instead he headed north, Jemma walking quickly to keep up with his long strides. 

Getting to the hunting lodge took less than twenty minutes, but the sun had sunk below the horizon, and the typical cloud cover of the Pacific Northwest hid the light of the stars. Barnes dropped the cargo box by the front door.  
“Wait here.”

“Alright.” Jemma pulled her hood on, it wasn’t much, but it would keep the rain that was beginning to fall off of her. She observed the hunting lodge with a grimace; it looked more like an abandoned hermit cottage than a lodge. The windows were haphazordly boarded up, and the roof appeared to be more moss than shingles. It took less than five minutes for Barnes to make a thorough inspection of the outside and return to her. 

“It looks clear.” He pulled out a pistol, Jemma’s eyebrows raised--she hadn’t seen him carrying one. “I’ll clear the inside and then we’ll settle in.” 

He turned the doorknob, gun at the ready, and pushed the door open. How Barnes was able to clear the dark cabin, Jemma wasn’t sure but she followed him in once he signaled. 

Jemma pulled out her pen light, shining it around the front of the lodge. A thick layer of dust covered everything, not that there was much. It looked like the lodge was split in two rooms. Where she stood she could see a single sink, what appeared to be a small couch across from a wooden stove, a table that looked less than trustworthy and two chairs that appeared even more questionable. Two cabinets next to the sink were closed, but they had been assured they were stocked with the necessary food supplies to make it through the next two weeks. 

Jemma moved through the open door that lead to the back, Barnes having removed himself outside to retrieve the cargo box with their equipment. Scientific tools for her. Weapons for him. 

In the back room there was a single full sized bed, which the sight of made Jemma’s skin crawl. Regardless, she set her bag on the bed, holding the pen knife in her teeth, she dug out the compact lantern and switched it on. 

With a better light source, she surveyed the room. She rolled her eyes when she saw the closet and wrenched open the door. 

And was faced with a solid metal door with the SHIELD logo and a keypad. She heard Barnes close the door to the outside. “I’m going to open the laboratory, Sergeant. Care to join me?” 

She punched in the code Culson had given her, 17141918 and the door slid into the wall, lights flickering on showing a narrow elevator. Jemma turned, jumping when she saw Barnes standing only a foot behind her, her hand flying to her chest. He cocked an eyebrow but stayed silent. Huffing, she moved around him to retrieve her pack. 

She joined him in the elevator a moment later, and he punched in a code that had the metal door closing and the elevator lowering. 

Thankfully, Jemma noted, the lab was in much better shape than the sparse lodge above. The lab appeared to be fully equipped and Jemma quickly transformed into scientist mode. Moving to the nearest station, she began unpacking her laptop and the containment box holding the yellow vial. 

Vial F.F. 667. AIM’s latest attempt at a biochemical agent that had devastating effects on those exposed to it. Anyone exposed to it would revert to almost Homo Erectus cognitive abilities and their aggression was magnified to the point where they may as well have been rabid animals. It was as if AIM tried to liquify the Berserker staff. The test subjects’ files that were retrieved were not pleasant viewing, to say the least. 

“I’ll leave you to settle in. I’m setting up the perimeter with the tech Agent Fitz gave us. If you need anything, just shout--I’ll hear you.” 

Jemma waved a hand at him, focused entirely on the microscope in front of her. She had two weeks to deconstruct the agent and create an antidote. Her team had solid intel that an attack on a major city would happen 15 days from now. 

“Let’s see what we’ll find, shall we?” Jemma snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and set to work. 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

“Doctor.” 

At the harsh tone right next to her ear, Jemma pulled away from the microscope, turning a glare towards the man who had interrupted her. 

“What is it?” Her tone was less than jovial as she stared up at the man. 

Sergeant Barnes stood next to her and Jemma found it unnatural that someone could have such a blank expression. 

“You need to sleep.” 

Jemma frowned. “Don’t be silly. I’m making progress. I’ve begun to isolate the chemical composition. It’s quite fascinating really. I wonder how they--hey--excuse me. What do you think you’re doing?” 

Barnes’ hands were on her shoulders, pulling her away from the station. “You have been at this already for six hours. It is nearly oh-three-hundred-hours and I know you have been awake for nearly twenty four hours. It is part of my orders to prevent you from, what Agent Fitz called, a ‘scientific marathon.’ You need to sleep.”

“If you think for one minute that I will be sleeping in that atrocity of a bed upstairs, then you are sorely mistaken, Sergeant.”

Barnes wasn’t steering her towards the elevator, but instead deeper into the laboratory that she hadn’t bothered checking yet. He opened a nondescript door to a room that held two cots; Barnes had already laid their sleeping packs out, a single bulb with a beaded power cord hung from the ceiling for illumination. 

“There are bathroom facilities through the door across from this one. Not the worst I’ve used.” Barnes stepped past her, throwing himself bodily on to the left cot. He sat up against the concrete block wall, pulling a small tablet from below the cot onto his lap after casually placing a handgun on the utility table between the cots. He fiddled with it with his metal hand, pulling up scans of the outside woods. Barnes looked up at her, still standing there staring at the cot. “Is there an issue?” 

Jemma’s eyes snapped from the handgun to his face, then shaking her head as if clearing it, she replied. “No, of course not. I’ll be back momentarily.” She grabbed her personal bag from the cot and headed across the hall. 

Having changed into her sleeping gear, her old SHIELD issued shorts and physical training top, and finished her nightly routine, Jemma found herself standing in front of the closed bathroom door contemplating her situation. 

Jemma wasn’t a coward. She wouldn’t have ever worked for SHIELD had that been the case. But the man who she was going to share a room with, a lab with really, for the next two weeks unnerved her. He was more deadly than Ward had ever been. She had trusted Ward and look where it had gotten her. She knew that Coulson trusted Barnes because of Captain America. But Coulson had trusted Ward too. She knew about the Winter Soldier but she knew nearly nothing about Sergeant Barnes and Jemma didn’t appreciate not knowing who her partner was, nor why it had to be him providing security detail. 

Jemma steeled herself, determined to see this mission through, even if it meant trusting a man whom she knew nothing about other than he had a past with HYDRA and more kills than his file listed. 

She went back into the dorm room, avoiding looking at the man resting on his cot on top of his sleeping bag, still fully dressed in his gear. She shoved her backpack under her own cot before climbing into her sleeping bag. Rolling to face the wall, she didn’t hear him get up before he pulled the cord and plunged the room into darkness. She was hyper aware of any sounds in the room, but even so could not hear anything--not even the sound of his breathing. Tension rolled in her stomach, but the long day had caught up with her and sleep overtook her. 

Her last thought was a desperate hope that the two weeks would pass quickly and she could get back to her team, where she belonged.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes takes some time away and it does them both good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse is yelling at me to keep writing, but my homework and editing projects are like "Hey, you need to be an adult." 
> 
> So, of course, I sat down and wrote out this second chapter which is just under twice the length of the first chapter. Wooooo.

Barnes’s eyes snapped open, the room still dark around him. He waited until he heard the sound again. Turning his head slightly, he squinted and with his enhanced eyesight was able to just make out the scientist’s body tossing in her sleep. She groaned again, a pale leg kicking out of her sleeping bag where the zipper had been forced down. He kept a sigh in, mentally calculating the time before sitting up. The woman beside him was still in the clutches of her nightmare. 

He knew what that was like. 

He stood, silent, collecting the tablet connected to the perimeter defense and his personal bag from below his cot. As he left the room, he reached up to tug the light on and ignored the startled gasp from behind him. 

It had been two days since they had arrived in the remote lab. Two days of prowling the surrounding evergreen forest. Two days of dealing with the mistrust of the scientist with him. It was almost worse than dealing with Steve’s team back in New York, even with Stark’s understandable issues with him. At least Stark had relaxed enough to build him a new arm. 

Bucky, James, Barnes, the Asset. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, the harsh light casting shadows across his face. He wondered who he was going to be today. That’s why he needed to get away from the team. Away from Steve. Away from Stark. Away from Natasha. Away from everyone who expected him to be something that he didn’t know how to be. 

Besides, he was familiar with the weapon she was studying. He’d experienced something similar during his . . . conditioning. 

Stripping himself down, he piled the knives and two pistols he kept on him in the white sink before stepping into the cubicle with low walls that separated the shower from the rest of the bathroom. He turned the water on, as scalding as possible, needing to feel the burn. He didn’t bother saving any for the scientist, no point if she didn’t do the same. He wasn’t typically an asshole, or he didn’t think he was, but there was something about her stuck up ways that made him want to scream. 

He felt his body twitch at the thought of her, and the long expanse of her pale leg came to mind. He shook his head, refusing to think about her, blaming their proximity. He snagged the white bar of coarse soap and began lathering his hair and body before sluicing it off. Using his real hand he felt his face, deciding if he wanted to shave or not. With a smirk, he decided to leave his stubble. If she thought him uncivilized then there was no reason to try. 

Turning the water off, he snagged his towel that hung from a hook and with quick efficiency dried himself. An idea struck him, and Barnes pulled out the set of clothes he usually wore on an operation. 

Dressed, he opened the door to see that doctor had left their room. He imagined she was already at her station, staring into the microscope. He wondered if her eyes would become literally attached to them after too long. But he had promised Agent Fitz that he would look out for her; after dealing with Steve, Barnes didn’t expect to have a problem with the scientist. 

Sure enough, when Barnes made it to the lab, Doctor Simmons was at her station. Though rather than looking through the microscope, she was scrolling through data on her laptop with one hand and sipping tea from the Timberline Lodge mug she had claimed as her own from the “kitchen” upstairs. 

He crossed to where he’d wrangled the cargo box, flipping the locks and opening it. She had removed all of the scientific equipment--most of which he had no idea what was--and so it took only a moment to grab his rifle case. Crouching, he assembled the rifle in seconds, a small thrill of pleasure coursed through him. Even before HYDRA got their hands on him, he knew he appreciated the craftsmanship of a well-made rifle. 

He grabbed two of the radios velcroed to the inside of the cargo lid, clicking them on to make sure they were on the same channel. He shoved the now-empty rifle case back into the cargo box, letting the cargo box fall closed. 

The doctor jumped when he set the radio down next to her laptop. He fought to keep his face blank, though he wanted to smirk. 

“Is it possible for you to communicate like a normal person?” She huffed, eyes darting to the rifle in his hand. 

He cocked an eyebrow, choosing to ignore her question. “I’m going out.” 

“What? Why? Sergeant Barnes, I demand you tell me.” 

He ignored her, stepping into the elevator and punched the code to rise to the ground level. Only then did he let himself meet her eyes, her face pinched with annoyance, and smirked as the doors slid closed. 

Barnes felt the tension leave his body with each step he took away from the lab. It was cool outside, clouds cloaking the sky, the evergreen forest still damp from the morning rains. He slung the rifle over his shoulder, his soft steps causing the woody scent to bloom before the breeze pulls it away. He’s clipped the perimeter tablet and radio to his belt, knowing he could make it back to the lab quickly in the event of an emergency. He kept his ears sharp, listening for the signs of wildlife while he peered through the forest for signs of what he was looking for. 

About two miles north of the lab, he found it--a deer trail. Looking up into the canopy, Barnes spotted the perfect branch to wait out in. Using his mechanical arm, he was able to swing himself up to the branch that he gauged at fifteen feet above his head. He’d have to remember to ask Stark about modifying his hand to include climbing spikes for more efficiency. 

He settled in, back against the tree, rifle in his lap, and waited. 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

Jemma woke up exhausted and in a horrible mood due to Sergeant Barnes turning on the lights as he left the room, showing he was as much of an arse as she’d thought. Nevermind the nightmare she was having, stuck back on that planet with Will . . . except this time they were being chased by Ward, only he had a metal arm. She didn’t need her Ph.D.’s to tell determine what her subconscious was trying to tell her. 

She dressed quickly, pulling her hair back in a messy bun before heading to the bunsen burner she’d set up on a spare lab station. Two days in and she was already getting sick of the MREs that the lab was stocked with. Thankfully, she had been sure to pack her own proper tea, even if her kettle was now a lab beaker heated on the bunsen burner. She noticed that Barnes drank the swill of instant coffee he had found. She had thought it was telling when the container had more dust on it than the cabinets had. Though he didn’t appear to mind, as he drank it with the same expression as he did everything else. 

Jemma was beginning to wonder if the man was more robot than human. He appeared to lack any general communication skills, only speaking to her when necessary. Not that she wished to speak with him, she was sure he would have no understanding of the bioweapon or the process she was using to break it down to its building blocks. 

If she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she appreciated the break from his presence. Between the frustration she was having with F.F. 667 and the uncertainty of Barnes, she felt as if she were fighting a constant migraine. With him out of the picture for who knows how long, she was able to focus solely on the problem in front of her. 

The building blocks of the weapon were foreign to her, which scared and frustrated her. But the results she was finding when running situational algorithms using the data collected from AIM’s test subjects and it seemed to trigger the brain to flood the body with adrenocortical stress hormones and testosterone. A combination that caused the person to become terrifyingly aggressive, to the point where the test subject would harm itself if no victim was available. 

And, as far as Jemma could tell, the agent was designed to be airborne. 

Setting her empty mug to the side, she focused fully on her computer to design potential counter agents. 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

Jemma stretched her hands above her head, hearing and feeling her spine pop from straightening from being hunched over the laptop for hours. Not for the first time that day, she thought of how much more quickly this would go if Fitz had been able to join her or if she had access to any form internet for research. 

She sighed in distaste, seeing the tea dregs in the bottom of her claimed mug. She saved her data, which was comprised mostly of potential chemical compounds to counteract F.F. 667. She would have to focus later on running simulations to test the effectiveness of her theories. 

Jemma blinked her eyes several times as they watered, burning from staring at the screen all day. She assumed it was all day at least. Without access to seeing the outside world, her body had no idea what time it was. She stared at the radio Barnes had placed on her desk, it had been silent all day. With a sigh, she grabbed it before making her way to the upper level. 

She was not expecting the smell of sizzling meat to greet her as she stepped out of the elevator and into the lodge. She definitely wasn’t expecting to see Barnes somehow grilling large cuts of meat on the ancient-looking wood stove, his rifle against the front door, and him stripped down to his tactical pants and his grey undershirt. 

He looked up as she came in, a grin on his face, the most open he’s been the entire time they’ve been here. 

“Where on earth did you find meat?” 

Her stomach growling as she approached the small table he had set. 

“In the forest.” If not for his grin, she would have assumed he had taken her question literally. She rolled her eyes, the idea of fresh food overriding any previous concerns she had. 

Barnes stabbed the steaks with a fork, piling them high onto a plate which he then sat in the middle of the small table. Jemma, feeling the need to be useful, collected the two dinner plates from the counter beside the sink along with silverware.

She grimaced when she saw the other food he’d prepared and he gave her another rueful grin, which almost made her stumble. 

“No luck with finding fresh green beans in the woods.” He poured the said green beans from the MRE pouch into a bowl before offering it to Jemma. “Fortunately, they gave us a lot of tabasco sauce.” 

Out of habit, Jemma took the bowl offered and used her fork to dish some of the vegetables onto her plate. She stared at Barnes though, trying to decipher this new mood. 

He must have felt her eyes on him, as he looked at her as he speared two of the steaks off the plate. “What?”

“Why are you. . . “

That smirk again. He was using one of his many knives to cut the meat, rather than the pathetic ones stocked. He noticed her stare, and pulled another out from his waistband, flipping it around on his palm to offer it to her handle first. She hesitated, flicking her eyes between the knife and him, before grabbing it. 

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He cut neat pieces of the meat, chewing quickly. “To answer your question: I had a good day.” 

“Oh.” Jemma didn’t know what else to say. She hesitated before taking a bite, looking back up at the man across from her. “Thank you for, you know, dinner.” 

Barnes shrugged. “I didn’t feel like eating another MRE. You’d think in 70 years, they would have made better-tasting food.”

Jemma snorted, unable to stop herself. “I’m fairly positive those MREs are 70 years old.” 

“That would explain it.” 

Jemma caught Barnes’ eye and tentatively smiled. She clamped down on the instinct to protect herself by not trusting the man across from her. 

Maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself to trust this man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! My muse runs off of comments and coffee apparently. I love all hearing from you all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go south . . . or look up. It's all about perspective.

It was if that night broke the dam between the two and a friendship began to form over the next few days. 

Barnes began to regularly join Jemma in the lab rather than passing the day in the surrounding forest. He began to dress more relaxed, leaving off his thick leather jacket in favor of the more comfortable cotton undershirts. Jemma would often look up from her station to see Barnes propping his feet up on a desk, leaning back in the swivel chair reading a novel. 

She was surprised to see it being a modern sci-fi, The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress. “A fan of Heinlein?”

“Fitz recommended it.” The man didn’t raise his eyes from the book held in his metal hand. His flesh arm stretched up, fingers threading through his long hair. “I’ve always enjoyed pulp fiction. Honestly, I’m a bit disappointed that we don’t have colonies on Mars yet.”

Jemma froze, going unnoticed by Barnes, as she thought about her experiences on the alien planet. “Yes, well.” She fiddled with a few of the vials on her station. “Living on an alien planet isn’t all it’s made up to be in literature.”

Barnes looked up, cocking an eyebrow but not pushing. Instead, he stood to move beside her station, leaning a hip against the edge and crossing his arms against his chest, book forgotten on the desk. 

“How’s it going?”

Jemma sighed, pulling out her hair tie and running her hands through her locks. “It’s going. I think I’ve isolated what triggers the aggression. I’ve calculated potential counter agents, but now it’s a hurry-up-and-wait game while the computer runs the analysis.”

Barnes stared at the figures scrolling across her laptop’s screen. 

“Do you need to be here while it’s running?” 

Jemma looked at her station, lips pursed. “Not necessarily. This sequence is almost over, but the next one will take a couple hours to run.”

Barnes pushed off the station. “Clean up then. There’s something I want to show you. I’ll be right back.”

Jemma frowned but turned to organize her station, since it needed to be done anyways; the vial of F.F. 667 set to the side for drawing samples. She was reaching for the slides next to the vial when the laptop chimed--finished with the first analysis of the data. As she turned, she clipped the vial with a few of the slides. Jemma dropped the slides, catching the rocking vial with both hands. 

Grinning at her near call, Jemma set the vial back into its containment box and went back to collect the slides. Eyeing the results on the screen which showed a promising compound, the sharp pain in the meat of her palm caused her to grasp her hand with a bitter curse. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a gauze packet, ripped it open and applied pressure to the cut. Looking at the station, Jemma realized that one of the slides must have been broken when she dropped them. 

Her eyes went wide when she saw the broken slide that was tinted with her blood--it had broken right across the sample of F.F. 667. 

“Sergeant Barnes.” Jemma forcing herself to stay calm, calculating her level of exposure. She guessed--hoped--that she wouldn’t be subjected to the full effects but she wasn’t entirely sure when to expect the symptoms to start. AIM’s test subjects always had various reaction times.

She pulled up the data, knowing the counteragent wouldn’t be ready in time to help but she hoped anyways. 

Barnes had come back into the lab at her call, walking to her station with tense shoulders. “Doc?”

She shot him a glance before looking back to the laptop, still holding the gauze against her palm. He grabbed her hand with his metal one, the question in his eyes.

“I’ve been exposed.”

Barnes’ eyes were so wide that had the situation been less dire, Jemma would have laughed. 

“Talk to me, Doctor.”

She sighed. “Minor exposure. Unknown timeline or severity. Counteragent unavailable. Just have to wait it out.”

His steel blue eyes met hers. “Worst case scenario?”

Jemma met his stare, as boldly. “I experience full symptoms. If you don’t kill me, I’ll end up killing myself from self-mutilation.”

“I’m not going to let that happen, Doc.”

A self-deprecating laugh escaped from Jemma. “I’m not sure you have a choice, Sergeant. I can already feel my temperature rising.”  
“I’ve experienced a similar weapon. Come on--” Barnes tugged Jemma out of the lab and down the hallway. He bypassed their quarters and stopped at a storage room that Jemma had found when looking for a broom. Ripping the door open, he shoved Jemma in the middle and began throwing everything--even the shelves--out of the room and into the hall, leaving the cinderblock room bare.

“Smart. I should be able to ride out the effects alone in here.” Jemma’s fingers were on her temple, massaging lightly as her head was beginning to throb. Anxiety and irritation flushing her, she was thankful she had forgone her cardigans for her thin shirts and denim over wool slacks; restless, she kicked off her shoes. The door slammed behind her and she shot a glare at the offending door only to see that Barnes had shut himself in with her.

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Barnes. I could hurt you.”

Barnes snorted. “I’ll take my chances, Doc.”

“You don’t seem to comprehend the situation, Sergeant. This chemical enhances aggression. I’ll be much stronger. Faster. I’ll be rabid.”

Barnes crossed the small room in two strides, gripping her shoulders. “I’ve dealt with this before. And I’ve fought people exposed to it. It’s why Coulson wanted me here. Besides, you weren’t fully exposed, were you?”

Jemma shoved away from him. “Exposed enough, James.” 

The silence stretched between them. Jemma rubbing her arms to prevent her from balling her fists. 

“Hit me, Jemma.”

“What?” She nearly growled. 

“Take control of it.” 

She seethed at James’ patronizing tone, glaring at him. She had multiple Ph.D.’s, she wasn’t a child. 

“Don’t let it control you. Channel the rage building. You can’t fight it, but you are strong enough to control it.”

His voice softened, causing the heat to move from her head to her belly--and she looked away from him, mortified. 

He pulled back out of her personal space. “Channel that too, Doc.”

Jemma reared back, anger flaring at the smirk she saw in the sergeant’s eyes and acted. She swung her fist, intending to knock the smirk off.

James pulled his head to the side, enough only to avoid real damage. Her small fist sliding against his mouth ,her stance and technique reminding him that while she may be a brilliant scientist, Jemma also had been an agent of SHIELD. 

He crouched, eyes tracking her as she shifted to face him, hands up in a defensive position. She feinted another punch, forcing him to move into the path of her kick--which he swatted away with his real hand easily enough. Jemma growled, rushing him and leaping--intent on taking him to the floor. 

But James wrapped his hands around her small waist, taking only a single step back, so instead she tried to smash her elbow into his jaw. It connected but hardly phased the sergeant. Jemma brought up a knee, James tossing her away before it could connect. 

The two circled each other, wary. 

“Come on, Doc. That all you got?” 

“Bugger off, Sergeant.” She lunged for him. He moved smoothly out of her reach.

“My, my, you’ve got a mouth on you today.” 

Jemma launched herself at him again with a shout.

\- - - - - - - - - - 

Jemma was sweating profusely and even James’ brow was starting to drip. Jemma had a split eyebrow, where he hadn't been able to turn his counter in time. He could feel where she had landed blows to his ribs, his flesh arm had scratches that were healing, and one quad ached from a well-placed punch that James was, admittedly, impressed by. 

“Talk to me, Doc.” He side stepped her, grabbing her outstretched arm, wrenching it behind her to shove her against the cinderblock wall--pinning her with his chest to her back.

“Still burning.”

James had to admire how, even with the enhanced rage, Jemma could report back. He rested his metal hand on her hip, the cool metal causing her to moan. He felt his blood spike in response.

“It’s been almost two hours.” He rested his head against her shoulder; her scent flooding his senses. “We can try something else.” Barnes felt the shudder run through her as his lips brushed to the side of her neck. 

She arched her chest back against him, snaking a foot up to shove off against the wall. He released her, back peddling but ready as she turned.

James thought, at that moment, he had never met anyone as beautiful as she was in that moment. Hair matted against her head, chest heaving, skin flushed, eyes opposite of his--full of energy. He raised his hands as she launched herself at him, grunting when she wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers burying in his dark hair as she smashed their lips together.

A matching growl was torn from him and he brought his hands up around her thighs, lifting her off the ground. Jemma wrapped her legs around his waist and it took everything he had to pull his mouth away from her demands.

“Talk to me, Doc.” His voice husky, nipping at her ear through her hair.

Her heavy breaths made him feel as if he were the one exposed to F.F. 667.

“Revised hypothesis. 667 doesn’t trigger aggression.” Jemma ran her tongue up his neck. James squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to concentrate on what she was saying. “Instead, it removes inhibitors. Enhances feelings. People are just angry.”

She cupped his jaw with one hand, thumb catching on his stubble. “Please, Sergeant.”

James tried to stay objective, but she was kissing him again and he was lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?
> 
> The next chapter will definitely be smut. I'll try to have it up in the next 24 hours, so you don't have to wait that long!


	4. Chapter 4 (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Jemma try a different technique to work off the F.F. 667.
> 
> Pure Smut

The detached part of Jemma’s mind wanted to tell her that the effects of F.F. 667 had begun to wear off before James had pinned her to the wall. 

His hands, flesh and metal, held her firmly as he pushed her back against the wall. The rough stubble scratching her lips as she drags her mouth along his jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses against his skin. 

She moaned into his kiss as he ground himself against her core, heat pooling between her thighs. Her hands moved to his shoulders, bunching in his shirt trying to tug it upwards but being distracted by his tongue plundering her mouth. James pulls back, pinning her to the wall with his hips, steadying her with his metal arm, and grabbing the neck of his shirt, pulls it off and drops it to the side. 

Jemma leans forwards, kissing the newly exposed skin, slick from their earlier sparring. James’ scent was a combination of musk and the tang of his metallic arm. Logically, she knew it wasn’t intoxicating but her body disagreed. 

He wrapped his arms around her again, lips attached at her neck, pulling away from the wall. With more grace than humanly possible, James sunk to his knees and moved her legs so she straddled his waist. 

“Talk to me, Doc.” He mouthed against her neck, his hands pushing her shirt up. Jemma snagged the hem and pulled it off the rest of the way, tossing it behind her. She grabbed his hands, bringing them to cup her breasts. 

“Yes.” She sighed into his touch. 

James fumbled only for a moment with the front clasp of her bra before snapping it apart and pushing it down over Jemma’s shoulders. He leaned her back against his knees, bringing his lips to close around one pert nipple while his hand caressed the other. Jemma mewled, grinding down against him.

“Need more, James.” She panted. 

He flipped them over, so he was braced above her with his metal arm. The cold floor shocking her into a gasp, which James kissed her through. He cupped her through her jeans, sending Jemma’s hands scratching for purchase against the smooth floor. 

He pulled back, both hands working to slide her jeans and panties off in one motion. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee before pressing down onto her again, attacking her neck and burying his real hand in her folds. 

Eyes squeezed shut, her arms came around him, nails scratching at his back as Jemma arched into his touch. 

“Don’t stop.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Jemma thighs began to quiver against James’ thighs, the rough material of his cargo pants adding to the heat that was coiling in her, centered around where James’ fingers explored her depths. The rough pad of his thumb circled against her sensitive bud, causing her release to quake through her, her slick walls clamping down on the fingers inside of her. 

James still his hand, still cupping her he peppered kisses across her bare collarbone as her heart began to slow. 

“Doc?”

Jemma sighed, the heat in her veins dampened but not extinguished. 

 

 

James wasn’t expecting Jemma to hook her leg around his leg, efficiently rolling them over so that she was once again on top. Her brown eyes meeting his startled blue ones, her hair tickling his face as she leaned over him. 

“Better. But I’m not done, Sergeant.”

James’ leaned his head back with a groan as the scientist slid down his legs, slender hands working at the buckle of his belt. He stopped her, placing one hand over her frantic ones. Before she could protest, he slipped two black knives from their hidden slots. 

“James! If I got my hands on those, I could have seriously hurt you!” Jemma was shocked out of the moment at the sight of knives he’d kept on him. He chuckled at her ire. 

“Doll, I’d deserve it if you were able to get those off of me earlier.” He tossed them towards the door, roughly in the same direction as their shirts.

Jemma huffed but was distracted as she watched his taut chest muscles ripple as he pushed himself up to rest on his forearms. 

“Jemma. Don’t,” he hesitated, long hair swinging forward and obscuring his view of her. “Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate.”

Her only response was to press her hands against his chest, lowering him back to the floor before undoing his pants and shoving them half way down his thighs. 

He groaned with need when he felt her hand circle his hard length. His hands holding her hips, careful to not grip too hard, guiding her to straddle his waist. 

James wasn’t sure who was louder as she sunk down onto him, her slick heat engulfing him. He forced his eyes open to watch Jemma as she braced her hands against his chest and began to undulate against him with a whimper. 

He revised his earlier thought: this was the most beautiful sight he’s seen. Her eyes hooded with desire as she focused on moving against him to maximize her pleasure. Skin flushed pink with arousal. Breasts swaying gently with the movement of her hips. Her lips bruised from his kisses. Whimpers spilling from her throat. 

“Tell me what you want.” James would give her anything she wanted.

“I’m so close, I just need . . . “ she bit off, grinding down harder against him. 

“Doc?” 

“I just need more.” Jemma almost sobbed.

James rolled them over once more, capturing her lips in an open kiss. He pulled her up his thighs as he sat back on his heels, staying buried in her. Grasping her hip with his right hand, he interlaced his metal fingers with hers, pinning it by her head against the floor. 

He rocked out before thrusting hard into her. 

“Oh. Yes, that please.” Jemma whimpered, turning her face to place a kiss on his metal hand. 

James’ heart clenched at the sight and he forced himself to look away, back down to where they were joined. 

As he drove into her, Jemma became less coherent--babbling, begging, praising. Her voice becoming higher pitched as he wound her tighter. He slid his hand from her hip across the top of her thigh, using his thumb to press against the sensitive bundle of nerves above where he slid into her. 

She shuttered, a high keen pouring out of her as she climaxed around him. James dove forward, kissing her through it as his thrusts became more stuttered before he spilled into her. 

James rested his forehead against Jemma’s, eyes closed, their hands still locked together. Chests heaving as their breathing evened out.

“Talk to me, Doc.” His throat rough from exertion. 

“Good. Very.” Jemma groaned as he slipped out of her, now soft. “Tired.”

James nodded, dipping his lips against hers as he reached down to pull his pants back up around his waist, not bothering to fasten them once more. 

He scooped Jemma into his arms, cradling her against his bare chest as he opened the door of the supply room. Kicking the debris out of his way, he carried the scientist back to their room. 

He hesitated when he looked at the separate cots, before looking down at the woman in his arms. He could tell she was almost asleep already. 

Mind made up, he walked over to his cot and laid her down. Careful not to disturb Jemma too much, he toed off his boots and pants before joining her on the cot, pulling her onto his chest. 

He lay there, staring up into the dark room while Jemma draped herself across his warm body. Her gentle breathing lulling him to sleep, his arm wrapped around her waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides under a blanket* Hopefully, this smut worked well.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the wait in updating! School life kind of exploded, since it's nearing the end of the term. Hopefully, the length of this makes up for it. I can't promise another update this week but I'll try to have something before I head away for the weekend.

Jemma’s eyes fluttered open. She was too hot; a stab of fear shot through her until she realized the source of the heat was from the chest pressed up against her back, not a lingering effect of the F.F. 667. Thinking of the chemical, Jemma’s face flushed--remembering her wanton actions the previous day. Holding her breath, she eased off of the cot, slipping out from James’–Barnes’ metal arm. She crept to her side of the room, swiping her clothes bag and fled to the bathroom. 

Jemma couldn’t believe she had allowed herself to take such advantage of James, who’d only been trying to help her. She should never have been careless enough to even been exposed to F.F. 667 in the first place. Though Jemma noted as she stepped into the warm water, having now experienced the agent, she was sure she could reset the parameters of the analysis and find a counteragent much efficiently. She was resolved to find the solution, keeping a respectable distance between her and James, and perhaps get out of here sooner than the pickup date in a week. 

She washed quickly, studiously ignoring her tender muscles and the marks James’–no Jemma, _Barnes_ –left. She forced herself to push away the memory of his mouth on her breasts. His hips pushing into her. Shutting off the shower, she dressed quickly, picking her outfit like armor. A cardigan over a long sleeve button down. Calm. Professional. 

She couldn’t bring herself to go back into their shared room, knowing he was in there. Instead, Jemma headed to her lab station, shoving her bag under the table. She pulled her hair back in a messy bun before donning latex gloves to clean the broken slides that they’d abandoned. To be on the cautious side, she collected her laptop after and moved to an unused station. 

Jemma let herself look one more time down the hall towards their room before turning her focus to reprogramming the computer analysis with her new data. 

\- - 

James had woken as soon as he felt Jemma shifting against him, watching her from under hooded eyes as she slipped from where she laid against him before seeing her silhouette against the soft light of the hall as she slipped out of the room. He rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes and feeling relaxed. Hell, he probably felt more like the Bucky who Steve knew now than he’d felt since escaping HYDRA. 

He felt his body respond as he thought about the day before and he wondered if Jemma was up for a round two. He stretched, back popping from the enjoyable—but cramped sleep. Hearing Jemma finish with the bathroom, he waited to see if she’d return. When she didn’t he sighed, figuring that it was time he should get up as well since an encore performance. Echoing her, he grabbed his bag of clothes before padding softly to the bathroom. 

Dressed for the day, James eyed the mess he’d made while clearing the storage room. He’d clean that up today—he may not be as fastidious as Steve but he didn’t like clutter. Jemma was at a different station today, focused on her computer, not noticing his entrance. He walked over to their bunsen burner turned kettle; Jemma had heated enough water so he could make his own coffee he noted with a small smile. 

Stirring the powdered coffee and water in his mug—a faded Multnomah Falls adorning the side—James made his way to Jemma. Memories of her coming undone around him made him smirk, which he hid by taking a sip of his coffee. Jemma finally noticed him, looking up from her laptop. 

“Sergeant Barnes.” She greeted him, her back stiffening.

James cocked his eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure that you’re allowed to call me James. Or even Bucky, if you’d like.” 

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll call you Sergeant Barnes.” Jemma turned back to her laptop. 

Bucky reached out, with his real hand, gently touching her wrist. “Talk to me, Doc. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Jemma pulled her wrist away, rubbing it self-consciously and refusing to meet his eyes. “I think, in light of recent events, it would be best to maintain a professional distance between us.” 

Bucky pulled back, realizing that she must regret the previous day—or at least regretted that it was him. Bucky understood, as much as he had hoped she accepted his brokenness. The memory of her kissing his metal hand had given him hope. Maybe not of a happily ever after, but at least someone willing to see him as a man. Bucky should have known that someone as whole as Jemma would never want to be with someone who didn’t always know who he was when he woke up. He locked down on his rioting emotions, schooling his face into the blank mask he’d mastered. 

“Understood, Dr. Simmons.”

At his cold tone, she looked up at him, eyes going wide at his face. Bucky knew that being faced with the Winter Soldier unsettled people and she was no different, though he could see her trying. 

“Good.” Jemma swallowed. “With the new data I acquired, I’m confident we’ll have the necessary results so that we may be extracted earlier than expected.”

Bucky waited for her to go on and she began to fidget. 

“I’m just going to get some air—there’s not much I can do while the computer is running the analysis. I swear I feel like I’m just a button pusher and the computer is the real genius.” Jemma fled before she could keep babbling. She headed towards the lift and Bucky didn’t bother trying to stop her. It was obvious to him that she couldn’t stand the horror of being around a machine. He was realizing that no one was going to see beyond the Asset, the heartless assassin. He would respect her feelings and make sure to bother the scientist as little as possible. From Bucky’s time with the Avengers he’s learned how to disappear within the team. If it weren’t for Steve, he’d have left long ago. With a sigh, he made his way to the cluttered hall and began to right the mess he’d made. This one he could at least do something about.

When he’d first entered the room, his heightened senses could smell the lingering scent of Jemma. Locking down his reaction, he had tossed their abandoned clothes into their shared room. It took Bucky the better part of an hour to organize and begin to restore the supply room. It was so much easier to destroy something than put it back together—Bucky thought it was much like his life. Even with the shelves replaced and supplies organized, there was still evidence of his actions. Some shelves were broken. Bottles of cleaning supplies cracked and leaking. Towels and linens carelessly refolded and stuffed on a single shelf. 

He was putting the arm full of toilet paper rolls back on a shelf near the door, pretty sure it was the wrong spot but uncaring, Bucky saw that the tablet he carried with him was blinking with a red light. He shoved the rest onto the shelf and pulled up the perimeter surveillance. He knew Jemma wouldn’t have triggered it since it was programmed to accept both of them. The perimeter bots from Fitz caught at five men, dressed in full tactical gear sans helmets, breaching the north east perimeter three miles out from the base. 

He tapped on the screen, pulling up Jemma’s location. He saw her marching through the trees, arms crossed, focused on the ground in front of her. She didn’t realize she was less than a mile from the approaching men. He clipped the tablet to his belt and swept out of the room heading to the lift. He didn’t bother with his rifle, not wanting to draw attention in case of backpackers. Plus, Bucky almost grinned, he had a lot of tension to work off. His knife would do fine. He only hoped Jemma could hold her own until he got to her. She may think him a monster, but he’d be her monster. 

\- - 

Jemma had to get away from James—her mind stubbornly refusing to call him Sergeant Barnes. When he’d approached her station, his long hair damp from a shower, she’d struggled to keep her thoughts and body under control. Having him so close—touching her wrist even, she wanted to reach out and pull his mouth to her skin, to have him run his hands over her body. So she did the only thing she could: she fled. 

She regretted her flight, in only that she didn’t slow long enough to grab a jacket and had hiked off into the characteristic Oregonian drizzle. The trees around her provided some cover but her hair was still matting to her head. She wrapped her arms around herself, growing cold but refusing to head back until she thought she could control herself. It wasn’t fair to James for her to throw herself at him again. Even if him suggesting she call him Bucky had made her stomach fill with butterflies. 

A thought almost stopped her in her tracks—what if he had a romantic partner already and she forced him into infidelity? Of course he thought she was still completely under the influence of F.F. 667, so James could justify his actions in assisting a fellow agent. Jemma resolved not to tell him, in the event that she put more hardship on him than she already had. She felt sick to her stomach, realizing how awful her actions were. No matter how much they both seemed to enjoy it. She had violated his trust—whether or not he realized it. 

A branch snapping jarred Jemma out of her thoughts. She looked up, eyes widening when she saw a soldier approaching her. Rather than waiting around to ask him to tea, she turned and began running back towards the base. Even if she led them to the location of the base, she’d have a better chance of getting James’ backup. She may be proficient at self defense, she was realistic in her chances of taking down the men out there. She wasn’t May and she was smart enough to know that where there is one, there is more. 

Jemma bit back a curse as she realized how far she’d stomped her way from the base. Throwing up her hands as a tree ahead of her exploded from gun fire, she began to weave through the trees in hopes to avoid getting shot. She wasn’t regretting the jacket as much as not grabbing her ICER. 

“Jemma!”

She thanked the heavens when she heard James’ voice ahead of her. She barreled recklessly through the underbrush towards him. Jemma saw him running towards her, shockingly fast in the rough terrain, still dressed as if he were lounging around her station but she saw the long knife in his right hand. 

“Down.” 

She threw herself to the ground as James lept at her feet first. She yelped as she felt him sail over her and heard the thud of him crashing into her pursuer. She hadn’t realized how close he’d been to grabbing her, her heart was racing as she turned to watch James in action. 

\- - 

“Stay down.” James didn’t wait for Jemma’s response. The sight of her running, being tailed so closely had made his blood boil. He’d leapt over her, barreling into her assailant—crushing him to the ground and quickly dispatching the man with the knife across his throat. It was over in a second, James back on his feet, eyes scanning the woods for the others.  
He felt the attack a moment before James saw the man swing a baton at his head. It was child’s play to deflect it with his metal arm. Two others joined the fray, attacking with their knives and batons rather than assault rifles. 

James dodged, punched, and kicked the assailants. They landed blows, it was unavoidable. One lucked out, landing the baton across his face; had James not been enhanced, the blow would have broken his jaw. As it was he could feel the bruise forming and he snarled—using his enhanced strength to stab through the man’s kevlar. 

He turned to the other two who were still trying to overwhelm him with body blows, James taking more care to deflect the knife attack, letting the baton find its mark more often than not. He headbutted the one on the left, sending him staggering back against a tree before James swiped his knife across the stunned man’s throat, blood spraying hotly across James’ face. He kicked backward, hearing the last man rushing him. Turning, he grabbed the doubled over man’s head, bringing his knee up with a fierce jerk, before snapping the soldier’s head viciously and letting him fall to the ground. He turned to Jemma—and froze. 

James hadn’t seen the fifth man approach and going for Jemma rather than engaging him. The man had an arm around her throat, gun trained on him. Jemma clawed at the arm but her nails were nothing against the man’s body armor. He, like the others, had forgone a helmet. Bucky studied the man’s face—it wasn’t any he recognized. 

They sized each other up. Both ignoring Jemma’s struggle. Bucky calm, not even out of breath, face and chest splattered with the man’s comrades blood, knife still in hand. Eyes cold and focused on the thug. 

The man finally opened his mouth to speak.

James threw his knife, burying it in the man’s eye to the hilt. 

Jemma screamed as the body fell, pulling away to prevent being dragged down. 

James was there to catch her having followed his knife. She flung herself against him, heedless of the blood covering him. James wrapped his arms around her, squeezing briefly before pulling back. “Jemma.” He shook her gently, and she met his eyes. “We need out of here. Think about what you need from the lab.” 

He pulled away, Jemma staring dumbly as he piled the bodies together—their weight nothing for his cyber arm, retrieved knife tucked in the back of his belt. He saw she was still staring and grabbed her hand gently before urgently leading her back to the base. 

“I need you to hold it together until we’re in the clear.” He spoke, voice soft, eyes scanning their surroundings in case of another ambush. “When we get inside you need to grab only the vital things for the mission. I’ll gather the supplies.”

“And then?” Jemma finally found her voice, causing James to pause and turn back to her. He went to cup her face, hesitating when he saw the blood on his hands. He settled for gripping her shoulder. 

“Then we’re getting the hell out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
